The Joys of Boston

Two experiences tonight, the first wonderful and the second annoying.

First, the good news. I went with Evan to see Same Sex America at the MFA as part of the Independent Film Festival of Boston. Great movie and great audience. Lots of cheers, or boos and hisses when appropriate (especially when Gov. Romney's face appeared onscreen). The filmmakers were there, as were most of the cast members, and they had a nice question and answer session after the film. This kind of film festival (we're going to see Stolen at the Brattle Theatre tomorrow) is one of the great things about living in the big city.

Update: April 24, 2005. Stolen was excellent as well! It's about the largest art heist in modern times, which took place right here in the Fens at the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in 1990. The film is very entertaining and full of interesting characters in the art world (art lovers, art detectives, and criminals), law enforcement, and museum employees, as well as flashbacks to Mrs. Gardner's life through her correspondence to her art buyer. The filmmakers and a Boston Globe reporter who's been following the story for years were there for questions afterward. All in all, it was a great weekend!

Later I'd gone out to run a quick errand and came back to find my ideal parking spot had been taken (bastids!). So I had to go around the corner and find a spot on Ipswich Street. Naturally there were lots of limos back there (I saw one driver drinking a beer in the street!) and plenty of taxis and other traffic. I was at a standstill behind like five cars for almost five minutes while some stupid bitches did Lord knows what before finally getting out of their cab in front of Jillian's.

So anyway, I find an open spot in the Fenway/Kenmore residents' zone, and park my Jeep. In the process I touch my front bumper to the rear bumper of this huge-ass SUV with no Boston neighborhood parking sticker at all. I get my stuff together and get out of my Jeep. Meanwhile, a college-age guy and girl are carefully checking the huge-ass SUV for a scratch on Daddy's bumper. There was no scratch.

I walk between the vehicles and say to the boy, "You know this is residents only, right?"

He just stares at me open-mouthed. I keep walking. I hear the girl say, in a remarkably repugnant accent (New York? Long Island?), "Can I have your license and registration please?"

Without even looking up or stopping I tell her "No you can't." I keep walking, through the alley and back to my apartment, wondering if they were gonna scratch up my Jeep or something.

Jesus, kids! If you come into the city, park where you're supposed to. And if you refuse to do so, don't freak out if your Daddy's huge-ass SUV is barely touched by another vehicle. My Jeep has been scratched and the side mirrors broken by other people's parking. That's life in the freakin' city, dumbasses!

cross-post from my blog